


Disturbing the Surface

by Ergott



Series: Like Ripples In A Pond [3]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: And give this thing called friendship a whirl, Because Jamie told him to, Developing Relationship, Gen, Jack decides to roll with the punches, Jack gets all his advice from 8 year olds, Jamie is secretly Yoda, Leap of Faith, M/M, Pitch finally reveals why he hates MiM, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergott/pseuds/Ergott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While contemplating the situation between himself and Pitch, Jack receives some sage advice from Jamie. Emboldened by the wise words, Jack later listens with an open mind while Pitch reveals a glimpse of his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disturbing the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a forewarning, I’m not sure what age Jamie is supposed to be in the movie, but I’ve heard a lot of people go with 10. That seems just a bit too old to me, though, so I’m going with 8 instead.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't winter yet, and it wouldn’t be for another month at least. Despite how little rest he’d gotten over the summer, Jack always had a tendency to fall out of his daze at the end of September. Autumn wasn’t really his domain, but he enjoyed trying to frost the grass, and some of the mountainous regions had no trouble supporting snow so early. Besides, he’d always enjoyed the vibrant colors October had to offer.  
  
It wasn’t quite Halloween yet and Burgess wouldn’t have much activity for him to foster until late November, yet Jack found himself curiously apathetic about leaving the sleepy little town. There were ski resorts quietly whispering his name, begging for attention, but he was mired in his thoughts.  
  
What was Pitch’s plan? Could the Nightmare King be trusted? Should Jack go to the other Guardians and explain what had happened?  
  
He couldn’t answer a single one of those questions. So, instead, he paced and worried, practically haunting his pond even though there was a great, wide world out there waiting to be explored. The troubled behavior was so uncharacteristic of him that he was actually starting to get mad at himself. But what else could he do?  
  
There was no reconciling Pitch’s behavior. When they had first met, the Nightmare King had been arrogant and cruel yet, even then, Jack had understood the underlying desperation. Now Pitch was waxing somewhere between antagonizing and genuinely concerned, and it didn’t quite fit in with what Jack thought he knew of the other man. It would be nice if he could soothe all suspicions but, after all, the past wasn’t that far behind them. Pitch had done some terrible things and it would take a long time to trust him.  
  
“You look worried,” a voice remarked from below him.  
  
Jack nearly slipped from the tree he’d been crouching in. His thoughts had been so consuming that he hadn’t noticed Jamie skirt the edges of the pond to find him. “Hey, Jamie,” he deflected, still wobbling a bit. “You’re getting mighty sneaky, kid; I didn’t hear you coming at all.”  
  
Jamie was young, maybe only eight, but he was sharp and oddly wise for his age. There was a half smile quirking his lips as he replied, “Probably because you’re worried.”  
  
“Hello, one track mind,” Jack grumbled. He loved Jamie, he really did, but that didn’t make him want to share his problems. Besides, what could a kid tell him about dealing with the bogeyman? So he deflected again, fishing for something to distract his small friend. “Did you only have a half day at school? It’s pretty early for you to be here, isn’t it?”  
  
Jamie raised a brow, almost mockingly taking in the late afternoon sun. “My mom does that, too. You know, asks a question to distract me,” he stated simply. “It doesn’t work for her, either.” The look he gave Jack was so quietly patient it was downright frightening. “And, for the record: no, school didn’t get out early. The sun stays up longer in the autumn than the winter; it’s later than you think.”  
  
“No fooling you, is there?” Jack laughed, inwardly hoping that the kid would drop it.  
  
But, like a sculptor with an ice pick, Jamie just continued to chip away. “What’s on your mind?”  
  
The young Guardian hesitated. He still wasn’t used to sharing his thoughts, and emotional outbursts embarrassed him. It was hard to break away from three centuries of internalizing all his problems. The other Guardians were constantly telling him to relax, to talk instead of chatter, but progress was slow on that front; he didn’t like letting other people see below the surface. Still, if he wanted to be trusted, perhaps he would have to trust others in turn.  He knew he had Jamie’s trust, of course, but maybe this was just the price of keeping it.  
  
“It’s this person I know,” he burst out once the silence began to stretch into uncomfortable lengths. “When we first met, I didn’t like them at all because they were trying to get me to do...” He hesitated. There was no adequate way to explain the situation without alerting Jamie that the subject was Pitch. Jack credited the kid with being far more mature than others his age, but he kind of doubted that the Nightmare episode was really behind anyone who’d been there. He was going to have to be vague to the point of nonsense. “...something I knew I would hate. Recently though, the two of us have got to talking, and it turns out that we really have a lot in common.”  
  
Jamie cocked his head, confused. “So what’s the problem?”  
  
Where to start? The person, the timing, the situation; there wasn’t anything about the scenario that _wasn’t_ a problem. “Well, I can’t figure out if they’re only talking to me because they’re still hoping to convince me to do that... _thing_ I refused to do before, or if they actually want to be friends now.”  
  
“I know someone like that.”  
  
“You do?” And for one insane moment, panic gripped Jack. Did Jamie know they’d been talking about Pitch? Would he consider it a betrayal and renounce Jack? But, no. The child was calm, maybe even _happy_ to be helping.  
  
“Susie Malanski,” Jamie answered with a nod of his head. “She used to only be nice to me because she wanted me to join the soccer team.”  
  
Simplistic, but oddly fitting. Intrigued, Jack asked, “So what did you do?”  
  
“I still hung out with her,” the boy replied with a smile and a shrug. “She’s actually really cool when she forgets to be a bully. Like Cupcake, you know?”  
  
“But you don’t intend to join the team?” Jack pushed, jumping down so that he was nearly nose to nose with the child.  
  
Jamie made a face at the thought. “I don’t like soccer.”  
  
“Does Susie know that?”  
  
“Oh yeah, for months now, but she still comes around to hang out. I think, after all that time we spent together, we couldn’t help but become friends,” Jamie smiled brightly, encouragingly. “The whole soccer thing doesn’t even matter anymore; we just enjoy being together. She still _mentions_ the team everyone once in a while, but I know she doesn’t expect me to join, anymore than I expect her to quit playing.”  
  
But this was Pitch. Was it even possible for the bogeyman to experience something as positive as friendship? “So you think I should give this person a chance?” Jack wondered aloud.  
  
“What’s the worst that could happen?” The boy shrugged. “If the thing they want you to do is something that you _know_ you’d hate, then you aren’t likely to change your mind about it. After a while, they’ll stop asking.”  
  
Jamie’s argument was solid, but Jack couldn’t help trying to poke holes in it. “It’s possible that we won’t get along.”  
  
“Yeah,” the boy agreed, “but it’s also possible that you might become really good friends. You won’t know unless you try.”  
  
But there was still one thing bothering him, one crushing detail that he couldn’t overlook. “What if it turns out they’re only using me?”  
  
“Susie was only using me at first, but now we’re really close,” Jamie laughed. Then, solemnly, he said the wisest thing the winter spirit had ever heard, “Sometimes, _why_ you start something doesn’t matter as much as where it ends up taking you.”  
  
Jack mulled over those words long after Jamie had gone home. He’d been so caught up in contemplating Pitch’s intentions that he’d forgotten to consider his own. When it came right down to it, he didn’t actually want anything from the older spirit. Friendship would be nice, especially since they understood each other so well, but in the end Jack didn’t need anything from Pitch. And if he didn’t _need_ anything, then the Guardian couldn’t be swayed, could he? As long as he kept to his core principles, then there were really only two outcomes: his relationship with Pitch would either stay exactly the same or they would become friends. Regardless of the Nightmare King’s intentions, true friendship was always a possibility.  
  
And Pitch couldn’t be all bad, after all. He’d done and said little things that were worthy of notice, deserving of trust, however small. He’d sympathized with Jack, shown genuine concern when it would have been more in character to take advantage.  
  
For one thing, despite Jack’s accusations, Pitch hadn’t even touched the younger spirit’s staff. The crook had been utterly unprotected, easily stolen or damaged, yet Pitch had let it be, opting instead to watch over a comatose Jack. After their encounter, Jack had been guilty and embarrassed to find his staff exactly where he’d left it.  
  
For another thing, Pitch couldn’t have been asleep the entire time they’d been together. He’d stayed out of some mutual need for companionship, but it had been a bigger commitment on Pitch’s part. For weeks he would have had to lay there in the darkness, slowly growing accustomed to the younger spirit’s presence. No matter what he’d said, he could have left at any time, but he’d _chosen_ to stay. That spoke volumes about the Nightmare King’s loneliness.  
  
Jack’s thoughts were interrupted by trails of gentle gold. He’d always marveled at Sandy’s nightly vigil. His good dreams filled the air like a thousand fallen stars, a comfort in the darkest hours of the night. Even before he’d met the Sandman, Jack had been taken with the dreams. He’d never received one, obviously, but watching them glide through the night air had always filled him with wonder and calm. It had been a way of reassuring himself that he wasn’t alone; there were others out there, even if they didn’t want to talk him.  
  
Quietly, Jack followed the dreams into town. He always enjoyed finding out which fantastic idea went where because it taught him so much about the children. Though some dreams were utter nonsense, most were a spot on reflection of their dreamer’s most fervent hopes and desires. A few were already focusing on snowball fights and sleigh-rides; knowing that his powers were wanted, _anticipated_ , always filled Jack with a certain pleasure.  
  
There were nightmares as well, though. This close to Halloween, there couldn’t help but be nightmares. They weren’t the hulking, equine terrors from before, however. These were the real fears of children: furnaces that turned into demons, witches that chased them into the darkness, sinister voices that came from nowhere. It was a little overwhelming, but then this was probably the only time of the year that children invited the bogeyman into their lives.  
  
There was a sharp sound behind him, like the heavy clip of hooves against pavement. Unsurprisingly, turning around reveal Pitch, looking casual as he surveyed the sleeping cul-de-sac.  
  
The casual part was a little impressive since Pitch was seated atop a horse. Jack had a moment to wonder how the bogeyman had regained control of the feral Nightmares, before he realized that the beast wasn’t one of those creations of corrupted dream-sand. This horse was bigger, bulkier, like a clydesdale as opposed to a racehorse. It bled into the shadows, a whisper in the darkness, terrifyingly solid one moment and barely a suggestion the next. A demon’s horse, that’s what it was, and though the Nightmares had had overwhelming numbers on their side, this creature was more unsettling somehow.  
  
“You’ve got a thing for steeds, don’t you?” Jack asked, breezing over to examine the animal in question.  
  
Pitch seemed surprised at the younger spirit’s presence, and maybe just the tiniest bit pleased as well. “I like horses; they’re durable, versatile, and usually dependable,” he answered, shrugging. “Besides, they’re very common for personifications of Death.”  
  
“Well there’s something you don’t hear in conversation very often,” Jack snorted, jumping atop a fence post and sinking into a comfortable crouch. “Aren’t you the personification of fear?”  
  
The Nightmare King chuckled, “This is true. But what do people fear, if not the end?” His smile was twisted and cruel yet, paradoxically, not unkind. “I am the suggestion of Death, the worry, terror and anguish of separation. I may not deal in actual Death, but I am a part of it.” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely, “Just as you are.”  
  
“Me?” The younger spirit hauled his staff over one shoulder, rocking on his heals as he tried not to laugh. Aside from maybe Bunny, he was the least death-oriented person he knew. He worked very hard to keep existence an endless stream of practical jokes and side-splitting games.  
  
But Pitch merely smiled at his disbelief, carefully explaining, “You are patron saint of the Season of Death. Your snow, ice, and cold have led to a higher body count than my fear. You were, in fact, _killed_ by the very same elements you’ve been given control over.” He gave another nasty chuckle. “How can you claim not to be a part of Death?”  
  
“Jack Frost, Reaper of Souls!” He joked, brandishing his staff like a scythe. “It’s got a ring to it, eh?”  
  
“You’re not exactly torn up by this, are you?” Pitch raised a brow, leaning forward across his mount’s neck.  
  
Jack settled down. “I don’t _try_ to kill anyone,” he explained. “Does it bother me that people die? Of course, _especially_ since that’s how my own life ended! But I can’t change the nature of winter: it’s dangerous and it always will be. I can, however, remind people that it also has the potential to be fun.”  
  
The Nightmare King’s brow inched a little higher, clearly incredulous. “You’re just a little ray of frozen sunshine, aren’t you?”  
  
“Oddly mixed analogy, but sure,” Jack laughed. He straitened from his crouch and stretched, inspecting the horse again. Even standing completely straight while atop a fence he couldn’t get face to face with Pitch. The horse was _massive_ and intimidating, a reminder that the bogeyman had his fearsome reputation for a reason. “Shouldn’t you be making rounds or something? You know,” he gestured at the serene trails of gilded sand, “subverting Sandy’s hard work?”  
  
Pitch absently stroked his steed’s mane, his gaze turning inward as that flair of incomprehensible ancientness ghosted through his eyes. “How many people have you talked to in the weeks since we were last together?”  
  
Jack considered it. “I don’t know,” he lied. After so many years alone, every conversation was a treasure. The novelty would wear off eventually, but until then he would continue to commit every detail to memory. “I mean, I’ve touched base with the other Guardians a few times, chatted to a couple of kids. Why, who have you been talking to?”  
  
Which was ridiculous to ask, because he _knew_. Pitch had no allies; the only time he socialized was during confrontations, something the other Guardians would have told the younger spirit about. If Pitch had been talking to anyone in the past month, it would have been the shadowy hell-beast he was currently riding, and seeing as it was just a horse that couldn’t make for good conversation.  
  
“Myself, Frost,” the Nightmare King said, to no one’s surprise. “I’ve been talking to myself. _For weeks_ ,” he emphasized. “I think my subversive maneuvers can wait a little while.”  
  
“Man, you really are desperate for conversation, aren’t you?” Jack asked the question only for the hell of having something to say. He knew exactly how Pitch felt. Without friends, without believers, existing was a torment. Each new day dawned with a crushing loneliness and terrible silence that could never be adequately filled.  
  
Pitch shrugged, oddly defeated. “It’s nice to have a few minutes where I can forget that I am an outmoded relic.”  
  
Jack had always wondered about the Nightmare King’s heyday. Why did he exist and where had he come from? He knew, of course, that the Man in the Moon had a hand in there somewhere, and that whatever had happened had caused a great deal of bitterness. Steeling his nerves, Jack asked pointblank, “What’s the deal between you and the Man in the Moon?”  
  
The dark spirit froze in his saddle, surprised. “What?”  
  
“You wanted to talk,” Jack shrugged. “Well, this is the conversation I want to have.” He wanted to understand Pitch, because he got the feeling that no one had ever bothered before.  
  
But Pitch hedged, clearly uncomfortable about delving that far into the past, “I don’t see what difference it makes.”  
  
“No, no, no,” the young Guardian sing-songed. He stepped off the fence, letting the wind carry him to a nearby tree. The branch he crouched on wasn’t necessarily closer to Pitch, but it did help equalize their height difference. “I opened up to you when we were under the bed together; now you get to return the favor. I want to know exactly who Pitch Black is, and I have a feeling that story starts with the Man in the Moon.”  
  
“In some ways, yes,” Pitch answered reluctantly. He paused for a moment, unnerved. It was strange to think that in the thousands of years he’d been alive, this might be the first time he’d ever really told anyone about himself. “But, then again, some might say that it started with a boy named Kozmotis Pitchiner.”  
  
He tried not to, he really did, but Jack couldn’t suppress his laugh. “Your name is _Kozmotis?”_  
  
“I know it’s hard for you, Jack, but don’t be rude.” The Nightmare King drummed his fingers on his horse’s neck, wordlessly threatening to stop before he’d even begun.  
  
Jack mimed zippering his lips shut and gave the bogeyman a cheery thumbs up. It was nice to be patronizing again after his extended period of melancholy.  
  
Pitch gave an unamused sniff, but there was appreciation in his eyes for Jack’s lively antics. Leaning back in his saddle, he continued, “This was thousands of years ago, further back than most would credit. It was a Golden Age of philosophy and discovery, but for all that, humanity was only just learning how to survive. Civilization was new, culture was still coming up with rules, and people were struggling. Golden Age or not, life was fraught with difficulty, stress, and _fear_.” There was a dreamy quality to his voice, a fondness that was darkened by just a touch of homesickness. “It entranced me, that darkness lurking in everyone’s eyes, because it seemed to me that the more they feared, the greater their efforts to survive.” He shrugged, a small smile curling his lips. “So I pursued the thought.”  
  
“You _studied_ fear?” And wasn’t that a weird thought? It called to mind images of Greek philosophers, huddled together in their colleges as they figured out the length and breadth of the Universe.  
  
“Why not? Everything is studied sooner or later,” Pitch countered easily. He seemed to be getting into the story, perhaps excited by the opportunity to explain himself now that the initial reluctance had faded. “Back then it seemed important to understand, a cornerstone of civilization that wasn’t being explored.” His gaze turned somber, eyes lifting to take in the light of the moon. “That’s how I met _him_ ,” Pitch gestured skyward, his tone a curious mix of reverence and aching bitterness. “He was younger then, more reckless, wanting to help but willing to try less endearing methods. If humanity was to survive, he said, they would have to be horrified by the alternative; they would have to be-”  
  
“Scared into doing the right thing,” Jack interrupted. He could see the logic in it, terrible and true. It was a method none of The Guardians would even consider, yet it had been the Man in the Moon’s first choice?  
  
But it obviously wasn’t a revelation to Pitch; he remained unperturbed. “Exactly,” he nodded. “So we took our study to extremes, cultivated the science until we were able to create Fearlings.”  
  
“Fearlings?”  
  
“I don’t suppose you’ve met them yet,” Pitch replied, gesturing vaguely to the darkness surrounding them.  
  
There was a chittering below him that drew Jack’s attention. Little wisps of blackness bled from the shadows of the tree like smoke. The tendrils were insubstantial at first, but they writhed in upon each other until they achieved a corporeal mass. The resulting creatures were shuddering and repulsive, chameleonic beasts that moved with all the grace of sludge. Whereas the Nightmares had captured the strange majesty and dark awe that accompanied terror, the Fearlings were more like the toxic sickness that led to unending panic.  
  
The Fearlings crept along the ground, skittering out in all directions. Jack watched as one latched onto the base of his tree, like a poisonous little wood-ear, and he couldn’t help but be disgusted. It wasn’t that the Fearlings were particularly large, but their presence was far reaching. The young spirit felt an instinctual need to get away from the  tiny monsters, horrified by them even though the Fearlings weren’t doing anything.  
  
“Of course, the nature of fear has changed since then,” Pitch said, allowing the wretched monsters to flow over his hands and arms like thick ink, “so there aren’t as many now as there once were.” Repulsive or not, he reveled in the Fearlings’ attention, energized by their presence.  
  
“What are they?” Jack reared away from the spectacle, hoping the beasts wouldn’t try to climb his tree. “What could you have _possibly_ have done with them?”  
  
“Fearlings are those little claws that pry you open and expose you to true terror after you’ve already told yourself that you couldn’t _possibly_ be afraid.” Pitch, probably noticing how uncomfortable his companion was, shooed the Fearlings back into the shadows. “At first we merely observed them, learned their nature and habits.”  
  
Jack watched the Fearlings disappear, thinking that the more he learned about the Nightmare King, the more he began to realize that Pitch had pulled his punches. The Nightmares must have been seen as some kind of personal revenge against Sandy or the Man in the Moon. Why else would the bogeyman have chosen to go with his less powerful options? Pitch knew fear as no one else could, he commanded an army of the most instinctively awful monsters ever seen, yet his war had been waged with comparatively weak magic. Had his offensive merely been a desperate gamble for attention? Because from where Jack was standing, it was becoming very apparent that Pitch could have easily won if he’d simply stuck to his traditional methods.  
  
“So what happened?” Jack asked, marginally relaxed now that the Fearlings were out of sight.  
  
“We began to breed them like dogs. They became smarter, more ruthless, but they lacked a hierarchy and it made them inefficient,” the Nightmare King explained. Suddenly restless, he dismounted his horse and began to pace. “The Fearlings needed direction, needed leadership to achieve their full potential. Problem was, they were difficult to control; they’d bite the hand that fed them as soon as anything else.”  
  
Not wanting to talk to the top of his companion’s head, Jack leapt down from the tree, desperately hoping that the tiny monsters had completely receded. He leaned against his staff and considered Pitch’s words for a moment, wondering aloud, “So the Man in the Moon gave you the power to control them?”  
  
“No,” Pitch shook his head, something foreboding lurking in his voice. “He theorized that the only way to control them would be to become like them and he suggested that I open my mind to the Fearlings, allow myself to absorb some of their nature.”  
  
Jack suppressed a shudder. He hadn’t even wanted to _look_ at the Fearlings, much less _touch_ them. Opening his mind to that mess of toxic emotion was simply out of the question. How could the Man in the Moon have asked that of anyone? And how deep did Pitch’s bravery run that he had willingly followed such horrific advice? “Did it work?”  
  
“Yes, and outstandingly no, as well.” Pitch stopped pacing and stared at his hands as though they were something terrible and new. “The Fearlings possessed me,” he continued quietly. “I willingly absorbed a great deal of their darkness, but it was ultimately a battle for control of myself. When it was finally over, I could command the Fearlings, but it came at a price.” He looked up, pinning Jack with a stare that was brimming with regret. “I had lost all sense of self; there was no more Kozmotis Pitchiner.”  
  
The young Guardian could almost relate to that; after all, he’d forgotten that he’d ever been alive. But having amnesia wasn’t the same as knowing that you’d destroyed yourself. When Jack thought of his past it held the thrill of discovery, but when Pitch looked back it had to be painful. How could anyone cope with knowing that they’d allowed themselves to be corrupted, twisted beyond all recognition? And yet Pitch had endured for millennia, laboring under the knowledge that he’d been led astray.  
  
“What did you do?” Jack asked quietly, his three centuries of isolation suddenly seeming like a cakewalk in comparison.  
  
“I’d been reborn as a new person, so I took a new name,” Pitch shrugged, the acceptance clear in his tone. “Then I proceeded to do what had _always_ been the plan: scare humanity into surviving.”  
  
And his devotion to that plan was astounding. If Jack had found himself turned into a walking nightmare at someone else’s behest, he knew that the fate of humanity would have been the last thing on his mind.  
  
There was still something missing from the story though, because the bogeyman was undoubtedly a children’s phenomenon. Curious, Jack asked, “How did that turn into specifically scaring kids?”  
  
“Children are the future,” the Nightmare King replied, moving closer. “The lessons they learn while young are carried with them throughout their whole lives. It was an indoctrination of sorts, because children were easier to control.”  
  
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Jack muttered to himself. The phrase had never been truer. Who would have guessed that Pitch’s awful methods secretly had the children’s best interests at heart? “So what happened?” he asked, gaze rising to take in the silent Moon. “I mean, how did you and the Man in the Moon have your falling out?”  
  
Pitch’s gaze followed suit. For a moment he seemed to bask in the light, pity etched across the sharp planes of his face. “He watched the children. For thousands of years, he watched them, and it chipped away at his resolve. He began to sympathize, to feel bad about their fear even though it was helping them survive.” His attention returned to Jack, the pity slowly being overtaken by an ancient anger. “It weighed heavy on him and, after a while, he gave in, desperately searching for positive ways to protect children.”  
  
“So he created The Guardians,” the younger spirit guessed.  
  
“Never mind the fact that _I_ can’t change, that he _encouraged_ me to become this way,” Pitch raged, bitterness burning deep into the words. His shadows thickened at the exclamation, stealing the cul-de-sac away from the Moon’s light.  
  
Jack took in the display silently, and couldn’t help but think that the other man’s anger was justified. He’d been ruthlessly transformed and abandoned, and that wasn’t easy to heal from. Yet there had to be something Pitch could do for himself, to ease his own burden.  
  
“You told me that you hate having all the different voices inside of you, that you feel like they’re killing you,” Jack said, remembering an earlier conversation. “So, have you tried expelling the Fearlings from yourself?”  
  
“To what end?” the Nightmare King countered, hopeless. “Kozmotis Pitchiner is nothing but a memory. I have _defined_ myself with fear and darkness.” He began to bleed into the shadows, an indistinct figure with a sharp face. “If I get rid of those elements then I am nothing but a whisper of consciousness, an insignificant ghost from ages long forgotten.”  
  
“Have you tried asking the Man in the Moon for help?” Because the ethereal being clearly owed Pitch; there had to be some compensation for using the man like a pawn.  
  
“He did this to me! For _millennia_ I willingly served his purpose, yet the second he no longer had a use for me I was not only summarily dismissed but systematically beaten down,” Pitch snapped, his voice raw. The confusion and desperation in his words was heartbreaking. Fear incarnate or not, no one deserved the pain that Pitch had been through. “I should not have to ask, as though he were granting me some great favor, not when he created the problem in the first place!”  
  
Jack had always felt a bit at odds with the Man in the Moon. On one hand, the first thing he remembered after becoming a spirit was the Moon chasing away his fears. It had comforted him, whispering down his name on that cold winter’s night. On the other hand, the Moon had never said a damn thing else to him. For three centuries, Jack had begged for even the smallest hint as to what he was supposed to be doing, for even the most insignificant detail about why he’d been created. Even now that he was a Guardian, the Moon remained silent, unwilling to explain his odd cruelties.  
  
And the Man in the Moon _was_ cruel. Perhaps not on purpose, but the fact remained. Jack had been created so different from his fellows that there was no way of fully bridging that gap. There would always remain a distance between him and others because their natures were never meant to be compatible.

Except for Pitch, because he knew that isolation. Unlike anyone else, Pitch knew what it meant to be inherently different. They were diametrically opposed and yet, at the same time, oddly fitting.  
  
Even as he accepted the truth, Jack found it hard to fully turn against the Man in the Moon. Cruel or not, he’d still given the young spirit a new life. Perhaps it was that small loyalty that forced him to ask, “So, all this time he knew what you were doing; that, even now in your own twisted way, you’ve been trying to protect the children?”  
  
Pitch sarcastically rolled his eyes and sneered, “Were you not listening to the story?”  
  
Jack paused at the Nightmare King’s response; he couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling Pitch was bracing himself for rejection. The hopelessness in his voice coupled with the flippant behavior was all too familiar to Jack—he’d done it enough times himself to know. Hoping to put the other at ease, he countered, “But then why does he direct The Guardians to fight you?”  
  
Pitch seemed surprised at the question, as though he’d expected any sane person to have abandoned him by now. “I’m the dirty secret he’s trying to sweep under the rug, evidence of a capricious youth he doesn’t want anyone to know about,” he replied, shadows easing a little. “And it’s partially motivational, as well: as long as The Guardians have a common enemy, he can keep them united and working together.”  
  
“That’s not fair,” Jack grumbled, watching as Pitch’s form emerged from the darkness once more. “I mean, you’re practically...” he trailed off as the realization struck him.  
  
“I’m practically what?” the bogeyman asked, impatiently moving closer like he was afraid to miss his companion’s revelation.  
  
“My god, you _are_ the _first Guardian_ ,” the winter spirit breathed, truth finally dawning on him. “That’s why you’re so torn up inside: you’re still bound by the laws of Guardianship. It isn’t possession that gives you power over the Fearlings, it’s belief.” Agitated, Jack gripped his staff. He wanted to move, to howl across the winds until the world made sense again, but leaving Pitch alone would be a mistake. “And the less people believe in you the less control you have over yourself.”  
  
“No, it’s fine. Just rub a little more salt into that wound,” Pitch replied, light and sarcastic, “I don’t think it’s quite _agonizing_ enough yet.” If he was shocked at someone pointing out that he was a Guardian, he hid it well. In fact, the only thing he seemed surprised at was the fact that Jack was still there.  
  
“Sorry,” Jack apologized, although he wasn’t sure if it was if he was just sorry in general for Pitch or specifically for what he’d said.  
  
The Nightmare King regarded him quietly, ancient silver-gold eyes studying him curiously. The weariness that was so much a part of Pitch eased. “You’re less defensive tonight,” he pointed out, sounding almost smug.  
  
Jack shrugged it off. “I’m generally an easygoing person.” Which was and was not true. He liked to think of himself as easygoing, but in reality he still had a lot to learn about dealing with others.  
  
“No, that’s not it,” Pitch smiled, sharp and maybe just a little cruel but, for once, hopeful. “You’ve come to a conclusion.”  
  
“The way I see it, your motivation is irrelevant.” Jack considered his words carefully, remembering what Jamie had told him. “As long as I stay true to myself, then the only possible outcomes are a positive relationship or no relationship at all.”  
  
“And you take all your advice from eight year olds, do you?” The Nightmare King laughed.  
  
“Lay off the spying,” Jack warned, although he had no idea how he could possibly retaliate if Pitch ignored it. “Jamie’s insightful for his age, there’s no reason I shouldn’t listen to him.” The younger spirit shrugged, elaborating, “Besides, now that I know how much of a train-wreck you actually are I would feel incredibly guilty if I ignored you.”  
  
But Pitch was not at all convinced. He offered his hand again, the third time in as many meetings. “Nothing at all to do with the fact that you’re really just as lonely.”  
  
“Not anymore,” Jack replied and finally, _finally_ , accepted the hand without any hesitation—only vaguely wondering what it could mean for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided to elaborate on Pitch’s backstory and it turned out to be mostly AU, though I did keep his canon name and a few elements of his book characterization. However, in light of the movie showing no hints that aliens were a thing, I made Pitch as Earth-bound as possible. What do you think?
> 
> The next installment will be from Pitch’s point of view, so stick around!


End file.
